THORN: Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  I sneak a few more glances at Thorn as he starts to stack logs in the fireplace. But I’m afraid to be caught staring at him again, so I force myself to turn away and busy myself with preparing a meal. I pull out some ground beef and buns and decide to just make hamburgers. I even find some frozen fries in the freezer that I can bake in the oven.

  As I work, something about being able to move around and do something starts to improve my mood. I actually catch myself humming softly as I turn on the oven to pre-heat and rummage around for a pan to put the fries on. Seriously, Izzy? I chide myself. Have you forgotten that you’re being held against your will by a man who clearly hates you?

  That sobers me up a bit. But it’s still a relief to not feel so miserable and afraid, if only for a little while. And I’ll take anything I can get at this point. I busy myself forming patties and forget about everything but the process of making the meal for just a few more minutes.

  When the oven is preheated, I spread out the fries on the pan and put them in, then start cooking the burgers. “Do you want fried onions?” I call over my shoulder to Thorn. “I can make some to go on top if you want.”

  All I get is a grunt in response, which I decide to take as a yes. I grab an onion from the counter and slice off a few rings to fry in some butter. It occurs to me to be slightly surprised that Thorn is allowing me to handle a kitchen knife. But as pissed as I am that I’m being held prisoner here, I know I’d never be capable of actually stabbing someone unless they were literally trying to kill me. And besides that, Thorn is so much stronger than I am, I doubt I’d even manage to get a blade close to him if I tried. And I’m guessing he probably knows that, too.

  I set two places at the small round table and put out ketchup and a glass of water for me. I start to ask Thorn what he wants to drink, but then decide that I’m not his servant and he can figure that out for himself.

  By the time the food is done, Thorn’s got a nice fire going in the fireplace. I glance over at it in approval, but don’t want to give him the satisfaction of a compliment. “Food’s ready,” I call to him, and sit down at the table without waiting for him. He stands up and goes over to the fridge. Opening it, he glances over.

  “Beer?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  It makes me feel just a tiny bit of satisfaction that he’s the one asking me if I want a drink. Small victories.

  He comes to the table and sits down opposite me. He places a bottle in front of my plate.

  “Smells good,” he grunts.

  “Thank you.”

  Thorn takes a large bite from the burger. “Tastes good.”

  “I can do the cooking while we’re here, if you’d like,” I hear myself offering. “It’ll give me something to do.”

  He gives me a nod. “Okay. We’ll eat better that way. I’m not much of a cook.”

  I try not to feel too pleased by the small compliment.

  “Well, I’m probably not that much better,” I admit. “But my mom did teach me a few things. Most of them involve ingredients we don’t have, though.”

  “Venezuelan food?”

  I nod. “Arepas. Empanadas…” At his frown, I explain. “Arepas are kind of like tacos, but with fried corn meal. Empanadas are little fried dumplings with stuff inside. Spicy.” Even though the burger is good, I feel a pang of hunger for these foods that I’ve barely even eaten since my mom left. “Lots of corn, rice, beans. Plantains and yams.” I shrug. “You’d have to try it to know what the flavors are like.”

  We continue eating in silence. I take a few sips of my beer, and enjoy a brief feeling of near-normalcy.

  “You’re not quite what I expected,” Thorn says then, out of the blue.

  “Oh?” I arch a curious brow. “What exactly were you expecting?”

  “With a father like Oz? A pain in the ass.”

  I let out a bark of laughter in spite of myself. “And instead?” I ask.

  “Well, you are pain in the ass.” He looks at me pointedly. “But not quite as bad as I expected.” He pauses for a beat. “Also, you have better tits than I imagined.”

  His words are so out of the blue that I almost choke on my mouthful of burger. Coughing a bit before I swallow, I glare at him. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or pissed at that remark.”

  “Why would you be pissed?” He looks at me innocently, but I think I can see a gleam of mischief in his eye.

  “Um, because it’s a totally sexist and inappropriate thing to say, for one thing.”

  Thorn shrugs and says nothing, taking another bite of his burger.

  I open my mouth to berate him some more, but realize I’d just be prolonging having a conversation with him about my boobs. And in spite of the fact that his words were totally sexist and inappropriate, they’ve still left me feeling uncomfortably warm.

  I decide it’s time to change the subject.

  “How well do you know my father, anyway?”

  “I don’t,” he shrugs. “Or hardly, anyway. I’ve met him a few times. I’ve seen him with his men. Seems like a good leader. They respect him.”

  I smirk. “Yeah. If you can call fear respect.”

  “Fear is respect. Of a certain type, anyway.”

  “I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree on that one.”

  He eyes me. “Are you scared of him?”

  “Me? No.” I shake my head. “Not really. To be honest, I don’t know him that well, either. Maybe not much better than you.”

  “How can that be? He’s your father.” Thorn’s face is skeptical.

  “I barely saw him, growing up.” I take a drink of my beer, weighing how much to tell him. “When I was little, and my parents were still together, he was rarely at home. He’s been the president of the Death Devils for a long time. When I was young, those were the days when he was building up the club, and that took up most of his time. My parents split up when I was about ten. I went to live with my mom. For the next few years, I only saw him every couple of months or so, if even that.”

  I stop to take another drink and steal a glance at Thorn. His face is unreadable. Sighing, I swallow and go on. “When I turned fifteen, my dad transformed almost overnight from being a mostly absentee father, to a strict authoritarian. He would come over to our house just to grill my mom about what I’d been doing and who my friends were. He didn’t want me to do anything. He thought Mom shouldn’t even let me leave the house except for school. I used to call my dad The Great and Powerful Oz,” I say, laughing quietly. “Not to his face, of course. But my mom would shush me anyway, and tell me not to disrespect him like that.

  “Mom went back to Venezuela three years ago, like I told you, to take care of her parents. She didn’t take me with her, off course. America is the only country I’ve ever known.” I shake my head. “Since she’s been gone, Dad’s alternated between being completely absent in my life to completely suffocating. Absent in the sense of giving me absolutely no direction in life, and suffocating in that he still thinks I’m fifteen and need to be monitored so my virtue, or whatever, won’t be taken.” I roll my eyes.

  “Do you live with your dad?”

  “Not anymore. Well, I mean, not before all this,” I say, waving my hand in the air. “Before Mom left, she begged me to enroll in college. At first I resisted. But finally this fall, I decided she was right, so I started taking classes at a community college about an hour away. I took classes part-time and waited tables to afford rent and food.”

  “College girl, eh?” Thorn says, raising an eyebrow.

  “Mostly to get away from my dad,” I admit.

  “What are you studying?”

  “I don’t know yet.” I sigh. “And at this point, I’ll probably never get the chance to find out. A month ago, Oz forced me to come home and put me under house arrest, so I had to change my classes to online.” I glance around the cabin bitterly. “And now… well, I’m guessing there’s no wifi here, and I don’t have my computer anyway. So my semester is kind of
screwed.”

  “Ah, don’t be that way. This is only a temporary situation. You’ll be out of here in no time.”

  “Yeah?” I scoff. “Just how is that going to happen? I still have no idea why I’m even here in the first place. And my dad is still nuts and overprotective. This could go on for months.”

  “In this situation, I don’t think he’s being overprotective,” Thorn murmurs.

  “Oh yeah?” I challenge, fixing him with a level stare. “Well, why don’t you tell me what the hell is going on, then, and why I’m here? Since nobody else will?”

  But he only shakes his head. “My job is to keep you safe. Oz will tell you what he wants to tell you, when he wants to tell you.”

  “Figures,” I say gloomily. “You’re scared of him, too.”

  “No,” he growls. “I have a duty to my club. And this is part of that duty.”

  “So, what about that?” I ask. “What did you do to get stuck guarding me as penance?”

  Thorn lets out a bark of laughter. “Oh, darlin’, the things I’ve done, I’d be doing perpetual penance for the rest of my days. This is no penance. It’s just a job.”

  “So…?”

  He blows out a breath. “I don’t know, exactly. Your father chose me.”

  “What?”

  “Rock, my prez, tells me Oz asked for me specifically.”

  “That means either he trusts you, or he has something on you.”

  “The latter.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Thorn gets up abruptly from the table, looking suddenly angry. He goes to the refrigerator for another beer. When he sits back down, the atmosphere between us has definitely chilled between us. We finish the meal in silence, and Thorn makes it clear he intends to keep it that way.

  I try to pretend like I don’t care, but the truth is, I’m disappointed. More disappointed than I care to admit.

  12

  Thorn

  I don’t know how this girl got under my skin so quickly. Before I know it, I’m chatting with her like we’re two old women having a hen party.

  When she asks me why Oz chose me for the job, though, I’m caught off guard. Maybe it’s because she’s told me so much about her childhood. Listening to her talk about her ma and that made me think of my own ma back in Ireland. And what I left behind. Things I never think about anymore. Or try never to, anyway. Suddenly, it’s all right there in the front of my mind. Along with the knowledge that if I fuck this up and the law gets involved, it’s back to Ireland for me.

  I crack open my beer and take a long drink. I can tell Isabel is looking at me but I ignore her. Instead, I finish my burger and reach for a second one. Chewing in silence, I will the girl to shut the hell up for the rest of the meal. But no such luck.

  “So, do you really think my dad has something on you?” she asks cautiously after a couple of minutes.

  “Mind yer own fuckin’ business,” I snap back. I expect her to cower, but to my surprise she stands firm.

  “Thorn,” she sighs. “Why are you acting like such a jerk? You were being sort of nice there for like half a minute. I mean, nice for a glowering asshole, but still.”

  “It’s not my job to be nice to you,” I retort.

  “Your job!” she huffs. “Oh, for God’s sake. Look. The two of us are stuck here in this damn cabin for who knows how long. I don’t want to be here, and clearly you don’t, either. The least we could do is try to be civil to one another. But apparently, that’s way too hard for you.”

  “No. The least we could do is stop fucking playing ‘getting to know you’ like we’re passing the time at the fuckin’ bus stop.” It comes out harsher than I intend, but too bad. I’ve let things get too friendly between us. Making her mad is probably for the best.

  It works. “You know what?” Isabel snarls, her eyes flashing. “Fuck you! And fuck this. You clearly would rather eat without me, so go right ahead. I’m done!”

  Slamming her beer bottle on the table, she pushes her chair back so hard it falls over. She jumps a little at the sound, but she’s not about to be deterred. She storms off in her stocking feet to the bedroom for the second time today, slamming the door loudly behind her.

  I get up and follow her. Turning the knob, I push it back open. She rounds on me like a little spitfire.

  “Door stays open,” I order.

  “Fuck you!” she spits back.

  I just laugh, even though part of me wants to wring her insolent neck.

  I go outside to smoke and curse. I sit out on the porch for over an hour, staring daggers out at the darkness. A couple times, I think I hear movement inside. But when I go in to check on her, she’s still sitting on the bed, reading her ebook. Each time, she glowers at me like she wishes she could kill me with a look.

  God damn it, she’s a pain in the ass.

  God damn it, I want to fuck her.

  This girl’s got me running in circles. She’s got an uncanny talent for getting under my skin. I blame myself in part, for letting myself listen to her talk about her childhood. I don’t need to know anything about her. The more human she is to me — the more I know about the person I’m trying to protect — the less effective I’ll be.

  I’d have been able to protect Jimmy if he’d been a stranger to me. I’d have done what needed to be done, instead of standing around like a muppet.

  I never thought I’d have to protect him — not like that. By the time I realized what was happening, I hesitated just a second too long. And by then it was too late.

  The grief starts to seep in, cold as ice water in my veins. Angrily, I shake off the memories. I stand up on the porch and throw my now-empty bottle, as hard and as far as I can. I hear it land with a soft thud in the distance.

  Then, nothing but silence. Just like before. And the tiniest whisper of the Connegut River, off in the distance. The silence reminds me that there’s no one else out here, except for me and Isabel.

  And my fucking cock, screaming at me about what it wants to do.

  After a while, I have to go back in to stoke the fire. The kitchen table is still set from dinner. I ignore it, go set another log on the flames. Then, with nothing else to fuckin’ do, I turn on the TV and stare at it with the sound off until I’m tired.

  There’s only one bedroom, so I’ll be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future. Sighing in resignation, I grab a pillow and blanket from the low chest that serves as a coffee table. I wander into the bathroom to take a piss. Then I go to the bedroom to check on Isabel.

  She’s asleep. Lying on top of the comforter. A cascade of hair falls around her face and shoulders.

  I take a step closer. Then another. My boots sound on the wooden floor, but she’s too deep in to hear them. She’s positioned half on her side, her breasts rising and falling evenly with her breath.

  Then I just stand there. Fuckin’ gobsmacked by how gorgeous she is. And how much I want to rip those clothes off her, and sink down onto the mattress next to her, and angry-fuck her until we’re both spent and panting.

  I’ve never wanted a woman like this before. I’ve never wanted a woman who couldn’t easily be substituted for someone else. Isabel is pulling my insides to shreds. My cock aches. My chest aches. Everything fuckin’ aches.

  Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!

  I don’t say it out loud, but inside my head, I’m screamin’ it. Why the fuck did Oz have to choose me for this job? Why the fuck can’t Isabel be his goddamn ninety year-old grandma, instead of his daughter?

  Why the fuck indeed?

  This is the worst job I’ve ever had in my life. Groaning, I bend forward and say her name, trying to rouse her. She doesn’t stir. I say it again, louder this time. Still nothing. Finally, I reach out, touching her shoulder, and shake her a bit.

  “Mmmph… what?” she mumbles.

  “Wake up,” I mutter.

  “Why?”

  Her tone is already different. She’s woken up and realized where she is, and that it’s
me talking to her. She sounds hostile now. Guarded.

  “I need to tie you up.”

  “What? Seriously?”

  Isabel hauls herself up onto her elbow and looks at me in stunned disbelief. “You’re going to tie me to the bed?”

  “I am.”

  “I think you’re taking your paranoia a bit too far.”

  “Not interested in what you think.”

  “What if I refuse?” she challenges me.

  “If you refuse, I’ll have to tie you down by force.” My dick jumps at the thought, and a whole new series of images pops into my head to torture me tonight while I’m trying to sleep.

  “I’m not scared of you!” Isabel says defiantly.

  “Well, you fuckin’ well should be!” I mean it, too. Right now, I’m angry enough that if I have to take her by force, I’ll hurt her. I almost want her to push me. Push me past my limits, little girl. Push me past the point where I can control myself. Do it.

  She gives me a long look, her face flushed with anger and her chest heaving. For a second, I almost convince myself she’s thinking the same thing I am.

  Her eyes still locked on mine, she flops dramatically back on the bed and flings her arms and legs out, like the starfish that’s hanging around her neck. I grunt and go out to grab the rope. When I come back in, I start on her left leg, tying a knot securely around her ankle and then to the post. I move to the other leg. As I’m securing the rope around her right ankle, Isabel jerks slightly and lets out a whimper. I glance up at her face.

  “My knee still hurts from before,” she says quietly.

  I remember how swollen and purple it was last night when we got here. “Sorry,” I mutter in spite of myself. After that, I work a little more carefully. When I’ve finished with that leg, I move up to her arms. I sit down on the mattress next to her and fix her expectantly with my gaze. Isabel gives me a sour look and hands me her right wrist. I wrap the rope around it, noting that the redness and scratches from the zip ties are mostly gone now.